


Heads A'Knockin'

by LadyReivin



Category: CW Network RPF, Kane (Band), Leverage RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Humor, M/M, Schmoop, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-07
Updated: 2011-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyReivin/pseuds/LadyReivin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has his own way of dealing with all the paparazzi that has camped out outside of the apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heads A'Knockin'

**Author's Note:**

> This is all deansbabygirl17's (LJ) fault. We were talking the other night about the boys relationship, and I commented that Chris wouldn't deal well with people being all up in his business. Said something about "Heads would be a'knocking". After Heather's reply of "I'd read that!" a little seed was planted...by morning was I was writing. Really, I should be working on finals, not writing this! Oh well, what's done is done! This is my first ever attempt at writing these two <3
> 
> Un-beta'd. All errors are mine!

Christian stood before the front window in the living room, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Eyebrows were pulled low over blue eyes, and a dark scowl marred his features.

“What is it?”

A warm hand slid up his back before gripping his shoulder, rucking up his olive green tee shirt slightly.

“Reporters.”

The hand disappeared from his shoulder. Shortly after he heard a soft clink, most likely a coffee mug being put on the table. The hand returned, sliding around his middle before slipping under his shirt to rest against his stomach. A chin propped lightly on his shoulder as the other hand came to rest over his heart. Long hair tickled his cheek.

“You knew this would happen, Chris. That’s why we always kept things quiet.”

Sighing, Chris grunted. “Don’t mean I got to like it. Look at ‘em. Obnoxious vultures.”

“Deep breaths,” the voice in his ear said softly. Always softly.

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit,” Chris grumbled. “I’m done being calm. It’s been nearly a month since I stepped out of this apartment without being blinded by damn cameras. Every time I see a a mag on a news stand there is some speculation over us. Each one gets even more ridiculous. I turn on the TV and there we are. More speculation. Or people condemning us. Or telling us to stop working. I can’t stand it anymore! This is crazy! I refuse to be a prisoner in our own home.”

“They will back off. Just give them time. Then Jolie will adopt a new kid from some odd country or Gaga will show up to an event naked…we will be forgotten then.”

“It’s already been a month!” Chris replied, leaning back slightly into the body behind him.

“Patience, Christian.”

Nodding, Chris sighed, closing his eyes. “Yeah, yeah…”

Everything shattered when he opened his eyes. One of the photographers that had camped out outside their residence was attaching something to the wipers of a truck. He was putting a spy camera on Chris’s beloved truck. Growling, he tore away from his lover, not even bothering to slip his bare feet into one of the pairs of cowboy boots that sat by the door.

Christian stormed down the stairs, feet thudding, before he burst from the outer door. Well worn, butter soft jeans, a tee shirt and his hair half pulled back from his face, he didn’t look like much until the scarred, balled first, the bulging muscles, an the furious look registered.

The photographer never saw the punch coming that connected with this cheekbone and spun him around before landing the man on his ass. He gaped up in shock at the stalky man that stood over him, arrowhead necklace swaying slightly on it’s chain.

“I have fucking had it with you people,” Chris growled as he reached down and grabbed a fist full of the photographers shirt, hauling him up. “Messing with my baby is the last fucking straw.”

Wide eyed, the photographer couldn’t do much but grab at the thick arm suspending him in the air and watched as it’s twin raised, ready to punch him again.

The sickening squish of a fist against body came, but the photographer didn’t feel the pain. Squinting his eyes open and he gasps. Another man, camera around his neck, was on the ground, his nose oozing blood.

“What about I’ve had it don’t you people understand?” Chris growled, grabbing the other cameraman by his shirt as well. “We want to be left the fuck alone, do you understand me?”

When he didn’t get a reply, Christian shook the two men in his grasp, glaring at the other photographers gathered. “Do you fucking understand me?” Chris roared.

Jumping in fear, there was hurried replies before people began to pack up their things. Snarling, white teeth bared, Chris hauled the two in front of him closer. “Pass the word onto your fucking little friends. We better not have any more camera’s following us or there will be more than a little blood and swollen noses, are we clear?”

At the twin nods he got, Chris bared his teeth again in a shark like smile. “Git.” He snapped, pushing them away so hard they stumbled and fell, heads crashing together. Eyes narrowing, Chris too a step toward them, hissing through his teeth.

The two beaten photographers scrambled to their feet and ran, glancing back only once they reached their vehicles. A raised fist and menacing step forward from Chris sent them driving away quickly.

Smirking to himself, Chris turned on his heel to head back into the apartment. He stopped before he’d taken more than a couple steps. Before him, in the doorway of the building, stood his lover. Ankles crossed, frayed blue jeans fell down over bare feet. An unbuttoned red and bright light blue plaid shirt hang from strong shoulders. Steve smiled slightly, his blond hair slightly wavy and mused from their bed, hanging loose, and lifted the coffee mug – Chris’s mug to be exact, the one Jensen gave him for his birthday years ago – to his lips.

After swallowing, he finally spoke, the small smile still on his face. “I thought I was your baby,” he said slowly, eyebrow raising in challenge.

Flinched slightly, Chris chuckled and shrugged one shoulder before he made his way up the steps to stop before Steve. “You are,” he said quickly. “The truck is my other baby…?”

“Mmhm,” Steve murmured, obviously not believing Chris. Still, he reached up, cupping Chris’s jaw and dragged him down for a slow, sweet kiss.

After pulling away, Steve tilted his head to the side, humming to himself for a moment. “You know, that out there wasn’t you behaving yourself…”

“So punish me,” Christian snarked back as he wrapped his arms around Steve, tugging him into the building as he closed the door behind them with his foot.


End file.
